Broken Lives Can Mend
by Psalm 136
Summary: Companion to A Morning Phone Call. Ignores the events of X3. Scott returns to the mansion after seven years. The reunion isn't what he thought. The welcome wasn't warm. He doesn't want to stay.


**Here's the companion piece to "A Morning Phone Call". You don't have to read the other one to understand this one, but I would appreciate it if you did. This ignores the events of X3.**

**Disclaimer: As much as the rest of the female population would like to own X-Men and the men within, I, alas, do not.**

Scott despised the winter months. The frigid air somehow managed to get underneath the meager layers of clothing he piled on his body, and the ice was dangerous to ride on. The days were very short, and the nights were abnormally long. Clouds shrouded the moon, and there was snow everywhere. The worst, however, was the fact that Christmas was rapidly approaching. He hated Christmas, and found himself feeling more and more like a modern-day Scrooge. Even the thought of traditional Christmas stories made him want to blast something into oblivion. He simply hated winter and Christmas and the happy vibe that seemed to exude from the happy little towns he came to at nights and left in the morning.

It wasn't that Christmas was a bad thing. Christmastime, however, carried the most beautiful moments in his life. It was the heartache that came from every memory of every Christmas he had spent with Jean that was hurt the worst. He had spent every day in the last seven years trying to escape the pain of not having half of his soul alive. He was wasting away, dying, without her, and he was trying to escape that sinking sensation of being absolutely alone.

Yet it wasn't an obvious thing that he was wasting away, but he knew it. His appetite had shrunk to the absolute bare minimum, but he didn't allow anyone to be around him long enough to realize that. He was addicted to alcohol, but everyone drank more than they should at bars and sleazy motels. He had sex with every girl that could work at Hooters, but he was young and handsome. From a stranger's standpoint, he was a normal young man. But he didn't let anyone get closer than a friendly stranger.

He had come to a decision, however. Scott Summers had started across the country several months ago with the intention of going home, of returning to Xavier's School. By the time he passed through Colorado, his eyes opened to the idea he couldn't stand himself. He returned to his old lifestyle; sex, drugs, alcohol, and more sex. The only reason he continued eastwards was for a different style of partying. Perhaps in the back of his mind he still was heading home, but that was never in the forefront of his mind. He didn't want to deal with the reality that he might not be welcomed back, despite what Xavier had said during that fateful phone conversation. Despite what he had been doing in the past few months, his decision was made. He was going home.

His journeys had taken him down South through Louisiana, down to the Everglades and up the eastern coast. He had had slept with an on-the-rebound blonde brat who had just broken up with her boyfriend in Kentucky, and then found himself riding through non-existent midnight traffic in New Jersey.

Scott slowed to a stop on the highway and looked at the proud sign that was welcoming him to New York. He licked his chapped lips and looked down at his gloved hands. He raised one to adjust the ruby quartz visor he wore while riding, and ran his fingers through his hair. He contemplated whether he should just move to the other side of the highway and head back to Wisconsin. He'd been there several times, and had the strongest vodka and cheapest drugs. His stomach tightened at the idea. He hadn't lit up for a couple days, and he was feeling the aftereffects. His now shaking hand reached into his pocket for the Ziploc baggy he carried… it… in. He peered down at it and forced himself to let it drop. The drugs had been a symbol of his life without Jean, and he needed them.

It was almost Christmas. He needed to go home.

He quickly entered New York and went at least twenty miles an hour above the speed limit before he could change his decision. He was sure the Professor would be able to help him, but he had to get to the professor first. The very thought of Charles Xavier spurned him onwards. The beloved, fatherly voice spoke in his ear as Scott replayed every conversation he remembered having with the man in chronological order.

The memories lasted only until he had to refill his motorcycle's tank, and that was when he began to seriously doubt his decision. He didn't need to go home, if it was ever his home. It was filled with memories of Jean. Though it had been seven years, he knew he would be able to smell her perfume in the air, as if she had just passed through the room. He knew he would see her in every room of the mansion. He would see her helping Rogue in the rec room, he would see her working in the med lab, and he would see her passing through the kitchen. He would see himself embracing her from behind out on the great stone deck. He would see her beautiful body at the pool. She was in every place in the mansion, and he wasn't sure that he could deal with that.

"Where you headed off to, stranger?" A female voice broke through his thoughts.

Scott looked up as he slid his credit card into the gas machine. A young, blonde woman with a sexy black Porsche was speaking to him, leaning against her car as if she wanted him to have sex with her in it. The cynical voice inside him told him that was probably the case. He swallowed those thoughts as his eyes were drawn away from her face as he gave her the once-over. Not bad.

"Westchester." He answered shortly. "Meeting up with some old friends for Christmas." He forced himself to remain neutral and not come apart with desire for her or pain from the idea he might get to spend Christmas with the people he had left behind again. The truth of the matter was that he did want her. He didn't know if his want would overcome his need to be home.

"Do your plans have any room for any delays?" She asked, running her eyes up and down his leather clad body. He could feel her eyes scanning him, and he wasn't against that.

Scott swallowed and shook his head. "It doesn't. Sorry." He mounted his bike once again and sped off.

He clenched his teeth tightly as he neared Westchester. The scenery changed to things more familiar, and he began to function on autopilot, finding some safety in his thoughts. He had no idea why he had turned that beautiful woman down, and he had no idea why he was turning his back on a life that had at least blinded him from his pain for a time. He was completely sober, he wasn't functioning on drugs, and he hadn't had sex for two days. He was being barraged with a constant flow of thoughts that he didn't welcome. He remembered the look he'd seen on Kitty's face when she had seen him leave from the second floor hallway window. She didn't know that he'd seen her, but he had. He knew Logan was shocked when the Wolverine had smelled the intent to leave on him. He knew he had hurt all of his students and his teammates and Xavier. He knew he was dishonoring Jean's memory. The guilt consumed him and he had to slow his bike down or he would crash.

Scott's heart stopped when he saw the mansion looming in this distance, but he didn't have enough feeling or brain functions to slow down, stop or turn around, so he simply continued towards Xavier's school. He turned into the driveway, but went slowly, as to not wake anyone. It was nearly four in the morning, and no one but the regular insomniacs would be awake. He slowed to a stop and got off his bike, kicking the kickstand into place. He froze, feeling someone's presence behind him.

"It's been a long time, Cyke."

Scott slowed his breathing and turned around, a condescending eyebrow arched. "I suppose it has, Logan." His voice was even, but he was shaking from his own guilt and shame. "Are you going to gut me or let me by?"

"I haven't decided." Logan's voice was sharp.

"What would aid your decision?"

"Whether or not you plan on leaving again." Logan stepped out of the shadows and into the open. He had a cigar perched in his mouth, and had a thin sweater on. He looked the same as ever, save the extra intimidation he gained from it being night, moonless and the fact he had claws.

"I don't know." Scott answered honestly, though sharply. "What's it to you?"

"You left them kids, Cyke. You just up and left them. They needed a leader, and you deserted them." Logan snapped. "I know Jean's death hurt, but you weren't the only one."

"What the hell do you know about hurt?" He returned, his voice just as angry. He found the ability to calm himself down from the far reaches of his mind, and struggled to do so. He honestly wasn't angry with Logan. Logan was right, after all. It was the fact that Logan was shoving everything he'd done into a few sentences and throwing it into his face. Part of him felt like a failure even more than the rest of him; he'd failed to do what Logan had done. Logan had stayed. Scott had left.

"It's not like you don't deserve it." Logan growled.

"I need to talk to the professor." Scott sighed, not sure he would be able to ward off Logan for much longer.

"For what?" Logan crossed his arms over his chest, unwilling to let get near the front door to the school.

"None of your business." He snapped.

Logan let his claws shoot out.

"I think I might stay." Scott admitted quietly, but Logan's ears caught it.

"Fine." Logan opened the door and walked through, not bothering to wait for Scott.

Though Scott hardly needed the grand tour, Logan led him up to the professor's office to make sure he didn't go near any of the kids. Scott, however, understood, even though he didn't want Logan of all people privy to a conversation between him and the professor. Both men walked through the halls near and dear to both of them, and didn't speak a word. They treaded quietly as they passed through the dormitory halls, and they both stepped over the stairs known for their loud creaks, especially at night. They were careful not to disturb anyone, but it seemed that one person knew they were already coming.

Scott felt himself freeze up when he saw the light in the professor's office bleed through the space between the door and the floor. Logan stopped, not sensing Scott's movement anymore. Scott would have sworn he saw the Wolverine's facial features _soften_ at the sight of the former leader of the X-Men fearful and apprehensive.

"Come on." Logan muttered. "Obviously, he's waiting."

Scott bravely walked to the door, and then stopped, glancing at Logan. "Are you going to leave?"

Logan gestured to himself, as if saying, 'What do you think, bub?' Scott got the message and sighed, facing the beautiful wood door. A shaky, leather-encased hand touched the doorknob and slowly turned it. He pushed with what strength he had left and the door swung open. He quickly stepped in and closed it behind him. He didn't find the courage to turn around.

"Merry Christmas, Scott." The professor's voice wafted over him, and Scott didn't dare turn, fearing that it was a dream, and that he would wake up any moment. "I see Logan has given you the warm welcome."

Scott managed a snort. "Yeah, if you could call it that."

"He's only trying to protect them." The professor said, and Scott closed his eyes.

"I know. I'm glad he is." He confessed softly.

There was silence as words failed both of them. Scott searched desperately for words, for something to say. This wasn't how he imagined their reunion would go. He had never thought it would be so hard, but after seven years, it was hard to begin again. He once again felt guilt wash over him like a rough comb pulling through his impossibly tangled hair. He leaned his head against the door and sighed.

"Scott," The professor called his name. "Turn around, please."

Scott let the death grip he had on the doorknob fade into nothingness and took a deep breath. He straightened his posture and steeled his resolve. He took another deep breath and finally turned around.

Silence once again reigned as Scott gazed upon his mentor, his friend, and his father. His face was absolutely emotionless. He kept his cold composure in place for as long as he could, but it fell away soon enough. The confusion, guilt and shame he felt were clearly written on his face, as if Jubilee and Kitty had written it in pink highlighter. Though, he remembered, they hopefully wouldn't do that anymore. They were adults now. He felt regret join the other emotions dancing across his exhausted face. He had missed so much.

"Do sit down." The professor's voice was slightly restricted, and it made Scott feel better to know he wasn't the only one who couldn't hide his emotions.

Scott obeyed and sat in one of the chairs directly across from the professor's desk. He looked directly at Xavier and managed a tiny smile. There wasn't much he could say. He couldn't possibly apologize. He knew Xavier forgave him, but he was far from forgiving himself. He knew Xavier was willing to accept him back, but he wasn't sure that he could accept himself. He couldn't explain the past seven years, because he didn't understand it himself, and he couldn't remember half of it.

"How are you, Scott?"

Scott would always be amazed at the professor. He was one of the most powerful telepaths in the world, and could have easily broken through his meager mental barriers and seen everything himself, but he didn't. Charles Xavier would always be a man who enjoyed hearing things from a person, and Scott appreciated it.

"As well as I can be." He attempted a casual look, but failed. "The last seven years have been hell. I don't know what happened to me. It just came in a rush, and I allowed it to overcome me. I didn't have to remember Jean." He said softly. "I didn't have to remember anything, and that's what I wanted."

The professor was silent, allowing Scott to continue. "I left everything behind and became the exact opposite of everything I had once been. I moved from place to place. I got so drunk I was sure I would throw up my stomach. I was so high I don't remember what happened during those days." He admitted openly, losing himself in his own world of memories. He hadn't allowed himself to really confess what had happened, even to himself. He needed this.

"I would lose myself to my grief, but no matter what I did, it never got better. I tried so hard, but it never worked. So I just let it take hold, and I let it live my life." He laughed bitterly. "I don't remember the last time I didn't have a nightmare. I don't remember the last time I ate a full meal. I couldn't stand the idea of anything that reminded me of Jean. I wanted to hate her, and I blamed her for what happened to me, but it was never her fault. She saved me, and I ended up killing myself slowly."

Scott clamped his mouth shut, afraid that more words would only bring on hated tears. He hadn't cried since the day Jean had died. He had grieved for her, he mourned her, but he had never cried. He wouldn't allow himself to. The only time he had cried had been in her presence, in her arms, and in their bed. He never let anyone else see his tears, and he didn't know what would happen if she wasn't there to hold him in his tears. The solution had been to never cry again. He refused to cry, though he truly wished he would.

"I'm so sorry that you had to bear that alone, Scott," Professor Xavier whispered in the tense silence afterwards. "I wish I could have been there to help you."

"I left. It's not your fault." Scott muttered, frustrated at himself and the way he had made his life turn out. "I failed you," He looked his former mentor directly in the eyes. "I'm sorry."

"You have never failed me. You have borne a harder burden that most ever are forced to bear, and I only grieve for the fact you were alone." Xavier gazed at the broken man before him, a look of pain on his features. "Jean was always an amazing woman, as you know. You both were so stubborn, intent on going through everything alone. I couldn't have been happier when you found each other. It seemed that your lives were complete, and that only happiness was ahead." The light smile that had played at his lips fell away. "But that is not how life always turn out, and you learned that in the worst way. You have suffered greatly in your life, and I'm sorry."

Scott found himself biting his bottom lip fiercely, determined not to let tears fall. His breathing had become hitched. "I'll be fine." He ground out.

"Will you?" Xavier turned his eyes back to Scott. "I don't want you to leave again. It is a selfish thought, but I can't lose two of my children. I worried, these past seven years. I wondered how you were, what you were up to, if you were even alive. I refused to use Cerebro, because I knew if I did, I would ask Ororo to immediately leave and bring you back. There was a part of me that knew you needed that time, though I was loathe to give it. I missed you, Scott. The students missed you, and the team missed you. The world was without a great leader when you left."

Scott was unable to look anywhere but at Xavier. He was surprised at this revelation, but he knew he wasn't the only one with scars from his desertion. A bittersweet wound tore at his heart; the professor had missed him. The professor had grieved when he had left. He felt strangely cherished that someone else had experienced pain because he was gone.

"I don't know if I can stay." He replied quietly. "I see her everywhere. It's strangling me." Before Xavier could answer him, he continued. "But if I leave, she'll fade from my memory in time."

"What do you think Jean would have wanted?"

"Better for me." Scott answered honestly. "She would have wanted me to be safe, secure, and with three good meals a day to keep me healthy. She would have wanted me to follow what I wanted, whether it was with the X-Men or not. She wouldn't have wanted what I let myself have." He pulled his gloves off absentmindedly, needing something to occupy his hands before he went completely insane.

"Will you stay?" Xavier asked plainly.

Scott glanced out of the giant windows that took up most of one wall in the office, contemplating that very question. He could return to his safe life that would pass by in a haze of substances and sex, or he could stay at the mansion and grieve Jean, all that he had lost, and somehow move on. He knew it would be painful. He knew he would want to leave, but he knew he had to do it.

"Alright." He closed his eyes, mentally closing the book on that chapter in his life. A new chapter was beginning.

"I'm very, very glad, my son." Xavier had wheeled himself around his desk and was now sitting near Scott.

The young man absolutely exhausted of life and it's pains and troubles sighed in relief as the caring arm of a father found its way around his shoulders. Scott leaned his head against Xavier's shoulder, taking deep breaths. The moment was frozen in time, and for the first time in seven years, Scott Summers allowed himself to cry for his lost love and his lost self, but he wasn't alone.

"Everything will mend in time, Scott, I promise."

And for the first time in seven years, Scott Summers believed in a promise again. Things would mend in time, his heart could be healed, and he could find redemption. He was home again, and he was safe. His father would protect him until he could protect himself. Things would mend in time.


End file.
